Christmas Lights
by SimplyTheBeth
Summary: Henry wants to take advantage of a quiet afternoon to hang some holiday decor, but Elizabeth has something else in mind...


A/N:Just some smutty holiday-ish fluff. This is my first fanfic in a few years, and my first attempt at this OTP; so please be gentle!

* * *

"Honestly, Henry, I don't know why we can't just pay someone to do this; my feet are frozen." She frowned, holding the ladder steady as he descended. "Besides, it's not like we each have an abundance of free time on our hands. I have a meeting with the Saudi ambassador to prep for, and I know you have papers to grade. Shouldn't we be taking advantage of the peace and quiet to get some work done?"

He stepped off the last rung, and took her face in his gloved hands. "Babe, hanging the Christmas decorations has always been a family thing. Just because the kids aren't around doesn't mean we can't carry on with our traditions."

"You and your traditions," she quipped under her breath.

"Hey, I heard that," he bellowed, climbing back up the ladder.

She chuckled to herself, and rolling her eyes, handed off a strand of multi-colored lights. Much as she lamented the loss of sensation in her toes, she really did adore her husband's affinity for holiday pastimes. He was a good man—a rare breed who cherished his family, and had a knack for making even the most mundane of chores feel somehow special.

When they lived on the farm, Henry would spend entire Saturdays raking the autumn leaves into a pile, and the kids would take turns diving into them, as Elizabeth looked on from the kitchen window, preparing hot cider and grilled cheese sandwiches.

One weekend morning when they were first married, she padded into the kitchen, only to find him face up, underneath the sink, unsuccessfully trying to fix a leaky pipe. She poured herself a cup of coffee, set it down on the counter, and then joined him on the floor. "You're gonna need a smaller wrench if you want to get a good grip on that straight reducer," she observed.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, he reached up, placed the tool on the marble countertop above them, and climbed on top of her, careful not to bang his head on the interior cabinet wall. "I love it when you talk plumbing to me."

She smirked as she remembered how quickly he managed to untie the belt on her robe, with just one hand. She missed those times. Since she took on her role in The State Department, they'd hit a bit of a rough patch, sexually. Between the long hours, the element of Diplomatic Security, and the constant late-night phone calls, Elizabeth could hardly remember the last time she and Henry made love spontaneously.

"We used to have weeknight sex," she lamented to him, one night early on in her tenure. There were undoubtedly moments when she felt as though the demands of her job outweighed the costs, because of the change it afforded her to affect. Still, she hated having to pencil intimacy into her schedule—always subject to interruption or change. It felt decidedly dispassionate.

And yet, he never begrudged her the imposition. It took nearly ten years of their marriage to realize that each of their ambitions needn't be a point of contention; sacrificing for their careers, and ultimately—for the greater good—being the nature of the beast. It was part of what made their relationship work so well—their willingness to wait on one another. Over the years, they'd take turns shifting priorities, compromising and re-negotiating when necessary. Still—she knew what it cost him to spend their nights apart, these days. She knew because she felt it too. He was her touchstone, and in this moment, she craved nothing more than the feel of his skin against hers—to fall asleep in his arms, and wake up tangled together.

"Almost done," Henry announced, as he climbed down the ladder, shifted it to the right, grabbed the last bit of slack left on the lights, and began climbing it once more.

Elizabeth looked up at her husband's rear end, and before she could give it a second thought, she picked up a fistful of snow, packed it into a tight ball, and hurled it straight at Henry's backside.

"Ow! What was that for?!" He hollered, craning his neck just in time to catch the devilish grin on his wife's face.

"What?" She smirked, trying desperately to look innocent. "It slipped…"

"You…" he chuckled, "Are going to get it."

Her blue eyes sparkled mischievously; and without a moment's hesitation, she began sprinting away from the house, towards the lawn—fresh, powdery snow crunching beneath her boots as Henry quickly scaled down the ladder, taking two steps at a time.

Within seconds, he had caught up to her, grabbed her by the waist, and toppled them both, effortlessly to the ground; he was in the process of unbuttoning her coat when she erupted into a fit of giggles.

"Oh, you think that's funny, do you?" He teased, "How 'bout this?" He used his teeth to remove a glove from one of his hands, as the other slid up under her sweater, and un-tucked her turtleneck from her pants.

She wasn't quite sure what was coming, but she knew, whatever it was, she deserved it. So she steeled herself against the bitter December air on her exposed midriff, as he quickly rid himself of his remaining glove, and placed his freezing cold hands on either side of her. She inhaled sharply through clenched teeth, as he placed his lips just above her navel, and blew a raspberry on her stomach. She was embarrassingly ticklish.

"Cold hands!" She yelled, through a fit of laughter, "Cold hands! Cold hands! Henry! Uncle!"

He smirked, giving a quick peck just below her belly button, "Why, Madam Secretary," he eased his hands up, and resting his chin on her belly., "CIA-trained operative," he taunted, slowly climbing up her body. "Taught to withhold State secrets under extreme duress, and yet… you can't take the heat?" He anchored her body to the frigid ground, with his, and planted a chaste kiss on her lips.

"Technically it's the cold can't take," she smiled sweetly, and kissed him back.

"Ever the diplomat," he chuckled—the lines around his eyes deepening.

"Speaking of which," she offered mischievously, "I'd like to read you in on a proposition regarding the generation of alternative energy sources—for—uh—heating purposes."

"I see," said Henry, coyly. "And just how alternative are we talking?"

"Preliminary testing has yielded results that were quite favorable," she whispered, between kisses, sliding her hands to his behind.

"I trust you've compiled the adequate research?" He could feel the front of his jeans beginning to constrict.

"Oh, it's more than adequate… Professor," her voice low, dripping with desire. "Would you care to… look it over?"

…

She had lead him inside by the hand. Their clothes strewn about in a trail to the bathroom, as they kissed and groped their way towards the shower. Henry fumbled unsuccessfully for the glass door, unable to tear himself away from Elizabeth's mouth and hands, roaming every square inch of his skin. "Now," she moaned breathlessly. "I can't wait." And without pretense, he guided her to the sink where he pried his lips from her neck, turned her around, bent her over, and buried himself inside her. She watched his every move in the mirror, delirious with want, as he fucked her hard from behind.

"God, I needed that," she sighed, sweaty and sated, reaching for the glass of merlot on the floor next to the tub, as he peppered her neck with soft kisses. She took a long sip, and Henry lowered his head to place a kiss on her shoulder. The feeling was beginning to return to her extremities. She placed the glass back down, and dropped her head back to rest on one of Henry's broad shoulders. She let out a soft hum of approval as he wrung out a soapy washcloth between her breasts. As he focused intently on washing her, she began to miss the feel of his mouth on her body.

"Well don't start something if you're not going to finish it," she teased.

"Hmm?"

"I love the way your lips feel on my skin," she whispered.

With that, she got to her feet, and climbed out of the tub, not bothering to reach for a towel. She headed for the bedroom, leaving small puddles behind her.

He could have sworn he saw a handprint beginning to appear on his wife's behind, as she sauntered away from him—a visual reminder of just how hard they'd gone at it earlier. He too had a few battle wounds that needed tending to—scratches and fingerprints she'd left on him, as she wordlessly clung to him, urging him to just keep going. She came so hard, the spasms triggered his own release. And after he emptied himself inside her, now she was somehow ready for another go? This woman was insatiable. He smirked, shaking his head.

Thankfully, Henry knew just how to satisfy his wife, as he ramped himself up for the next round.

He stood up, and wrapped a towel around his waist, following Elizabeth into the bedroom where she lay waiting for him, offering herself to him in sweet supplication.

Without a word, he climbed on top of her naked, wet body, and began planting a trail of soft kisses from her neck to her navel, stopping every so often to trace a stray water droplet with the tip of his tongue.

Her eyes slipped shut as she reached for him, lacing their fingers together.

He used his free hand to hoist her legs to the edge of the bed, and he stood up, towering over her, contemplating his next move.

She was irresistible to him. A bit softer now around the edges, after nearly three decades together. He'd watched her body change and grow swollen with their children, squeezing her hand as she bore them into the world. Still, he loved to love on every curve and valley of her, finding her somehow even sexier than he did the very first time they made love in the front seat of his '87 Buick—exploring new territory together—their bodies illuminated by the streetlights.

He dropped to his knees, and slid her legs over his shoulders.

She moaned softly, feeling his breath inch closer to the place she so desperately wanted him.

He placed a kiss on the inside of her thigh, and felt her fingers raking through his hair—a silent plea to move things along.

"Henry," she breathed.

He needed no further encouragement. Still, he reveled in the sight of his wife left wanting—even if for a moment. He fit his mouth around her, and unmoving, he let his hot breath caress her soft skin. The way she sought further contact with his lips made him feel powerful.

"Henry…" she panted, a bit louder now, desperately needing more.

"You want it?"

"God, yes—please…" she begged, shifting her hips. This man would be the death of her.

"Just checking," he smirked. Placing a thumb on either side of her, he ran his tongue all the way up, and applying just the smallest amount of pressure right where she needed it, fit his mouth around his wife, and began to suck her softly.

Elizabeth stopped squirming instantly, and bit her lip to keep from crying out. Her husband's face between her legs was easily one of her favorite sights.

Knowing how much she loved to watch him work, Henry reached behind him, and grabbed a pillow, tossing it to her without missing a beat—his tongue caressing her softly.

She could hardly manage to sit up long enough to tuck the pillow beneath her, but once she successfully perched herself, she met his dark eyes with a sultry gaze, as he lovingly splayed a hand over her belly, and curled a finger inside her.

She moaned, and tried to sit up just a bit more.

Noticing her struggle, he slid his free hand up underneath her body, and pulled her closer, surrendering control to her, as she sat up, clamped her thighs around his head, and began to ride his face while he sucked and lapped at her hungrily.

He moaned into the soft heat of her, and the reverberations sent shockwaves up her spine, down to her toes, as her eyes slipped shut. She was starting to tip.

He could feel her getting close to the edge, and added another finger, pumping and curling into her, as she tightened around him.

"F—ahh—Henry… I'm gonna c—" was all she could manage, as he pried his lips from her center, and climbed on top of her, pushing a third finger into her, as his lips crashed onto her mouth, swallowing her breathless cries; she thrashed against him.

The first thing she noticed when she came down was the deliciously full feeling inside her, as his palms covered both of her breasts, and the full weight of his body between her thighs, as his hips met hers.

The second thing she noticed was the tangy taste of her want on her husband's mouth was he kissed her, and it made her feel powerful—as though she had somehow branded him.

"I love the way you taste," he mumbled against her lips, and she whimpered softly in response, feeling every inch of him stroke her, as their bodies slipped against each other. She could hardly form words, but the way her fingertips grazed his skin as she smiled against his mouth told him everything he needed to know.

She kissed him softly, and pressed the heel of her hand into his chest, wrapping her legs around his waist, taking him deeper, and urging him to move. "Baby…" she whispered, and slid her free hand between them. She needed to regain control.

He pressed his forehead to hers, locking eyes with her as slowed his hips, when she wrapped her fingers around his balls.

She seized upon his momentary distraction from the task at hand, and in one fluid motion, she was on top of him, grinding slowly. He smiled up at her, closing his eyes, and reveling in the feel of her soft wet heat pooling around him, wrenching a soft moan from the depths of him.

She leaned over and pressed her lips just below his ear, "How's that feel, baby…"

He hummed his approval, sliding his hands to the curves of her hips, needing to feel her move.

She pushed her hands into his chest for leverage, and began to lift her hips. He stretched and filled her so completely, she could hardly bring herself to move, for fear of missing the feeling of him buried so agonizingly deep.

He reached up, filling his palms with her breasts, as she switched gears and began to grind against him, slowly feeling the ache of ecstasy begin to smolder, deep inside her belly.

"Unhhhhhh…" she moaned in half-hearted frustration, wanting desperately to feel him pushing into her, sliding out slowly, and easing back in again.

Henry smirked up at his wife. "Little out of shape, are we?" He teased.

Her face twisted into a sheepish grin. "I'm still sore from earlier, that's all" she offered.

"Keep telling yourself that, Madam Sexytary."

She leaned forward, letting him take the lead again, pushing up into her, and he slid his hands around her back, bringing one of his palms down hard, against her ass, as he slipped his fingers into her hair, giving it a gentle tug.

"Yesssssss," she hissed, feeling the bite of his palm searing into her flesh as he spanked her again and again, pressing his fingertips into her a little harder each time. "Harder, baby…" she panted, "So good," and he dragged his teeth across the pulsing skin just below her ear, and brought a hand around front to stroke her.

"Not yet," she breathed. "Please, Henry…" She was still sensitive from the electrifying release he gave her earlier.

He pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat. "Say when."

"F—ah… Fuck... Babe."

Suddenly her phone lit up on the bedside table. They both heard the buzz, and froze instantly. She sat up and looked at him tentatively.

His brow furrowed a bit. "Ignore it?" He looked up at his wife, breathless and sweaty, on top of him, completely still, but for her shallow panting.

She waited a beat, listening imperceptibly for something.

"Yeah," she said somewhat indecisively.

"You want to check?"

"Yeah," she said again, more definitively.

She leaned back, reached for her glasses, and put them on, his erection still poking at her.

She craned her neck and squinted, trying to get a better look at the screen.

"It's a text from Stevie," she said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Wants to know what we're doing for dinner."

He chuckled. "Well I know what I'm hungry for."

"Oh, shut up…" she laughed.

"Shut up, and?" He brought his hands down between then, and started to stroke her again.

"No, no no! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Not yet!" She pleaded.

He obliged "Well, I was looking for 'shut up and fuck me,' but I'll settle for a mea culpa."

"Shut up and fuck me," she said, feigning annoyance.

"Madam Secretary…" he taunted, putting his hands on her waist, and pushing her backwards, pinning her to the bed. "Such a naughty girl."

She groaned in frustration, the maneuver dislodged him, and she was left maddeningly wanting.

She went to take her glasses off, but his hand on her arm stopped her. "Leave 'em on. I love it when you wear those things." He kissed her sweetly, "preferably when you're wearing nothing else."

"Fiiine," she spat, "but hurry up." She wiggled ever-so slightly beneath him, desperately seeking contact.

"Be patient," he chided.

"What do you want from me? I'm horny, and you're kinda hot, so let's get on with it, Professor." Pressing his lips to her neck, he penetrated her once more, and she rewarded him the sexiest little laugh.

"You like it rough, Baby?" He smirked, pinning her arms back with his hands.

No sooner did he begin to move, the land line began to ring, startling her. "Jesus Christ, people, I'm trying to get laid…"

He collapsed on top of her, laughing heartily.

"We can't ignore it," she rolled her eyes. "Could be security. Someone could be here."

"Babe…" he said flatly. "If it's important, they'll call back. It's probably just Stevie, wondering why you haven't answered her text."

"What if she's on her way home? Do you really want to get caught with your pants down? …Err—off, I guess."

"Fine." he said, "Answer it."

"I can't answer it, she's gonna want to know why I didn't respond to her text, and I have sex voice!"

He burst out laughing.

"You think this is funny?"

"Actually, yes." He said, kissing her neck. "I sincerely doubt Stevie's going to pick up on the fact that I'm inside you, from a quick phone call."

He started moving his hips again.

"What if she does?" She tried desperately to disengage from her husband's ministrations. "And who said it was going to be qui—oh, fuck, that feels good."

"It better be quick." He said, kissing her passionately. "You're missing some of my best work right now," with that, he slid his fingers between them. "Say when."

"Oh God," she moaned. "When."

The phone rang again, and he collapsed in frustration on top of her, reaching for the base, and pressing the speaker button.

"Hello," he said rather impatiently.

"Hey Dad; Mom there?"

"She's a little busy right now, what's up, Stevie."

"I… was just calling to see if she checked her texts."

"Do you need something?" He tried desperately to sound engaged, but all of his efforts were intently focused on not crushing his wife.

"Ahhh …You know what, don't worry about it. I'm just gonna stay at Hannah's tonight."

"Everything okay?"

"Yep; all good. Bye Dad, love you." She waited a moment before adding, "You too, Mom."

"Love you too, Baby." Elizabeth bellowed.

He erupted into a fit of laughter, and she punched him playfully in the shoulder as he reached for the button to disconnect the call.

"Asshole," she smirked.

"Guilty," he replied. "Now where were we?"

He began stroking her again, in time with his thrusts, and she melted into him, her breath becoming ragged. "When," she panted.

One, two, three more thrusts and and he filled her with his warmth, as the aftershocks of her own orgasm subsided.

"God, that was good…" She said quietly, as he rolled off of her, sweaty and spent.

She reached for him, and kissed him tenderly, pulling the covers up over her shivering body. She was certain she wouldn't be able to walk straight.

He smiled and brushed a lock of hair from her face. She was so stunningly gorgeous in the aftermath—pink cheeks, hooded, sparkling eyes, and glowing skin. He could barely entertain the thought of being anywhere but in bed with her.

"We should really go finish those Christmas lights," she said, tossing the covers off.

"Yep."


End file.
